


calling a monster by any other name (won't make it kind)

by chloebaeprice



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloebaeprice/pseuds/chloebaeprice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, what a tragedy became of her. The once darling creature now a gnarling, ugly beast people recoil from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	calling a monster by any other name (won't make it kind)

The bones in her body are frozen from Maman’s manipulations, devoid of any love in her life to warm her chilling skeletal structure, yet Laura had set a pressure in her chest, laden with stones and water, where before there was only spindly spider webs intertwined, a farce for a heart and lacking any real solidity.

Her chest begs for Laura to fill it once more with soothing lies, those of how she is not a monster but the hero she foolishly thought was possible for her to be, shortly after the death of dear Countess Mircalla, whose beauty and naivety spilled along dancefloors, manifesting in smooth smiles and careless swaying.

Oh, what a tragedy became of her. The once darling creature now a gnarling, ugly beast people recoil from.

Sliding that damning blade through the flesh and bone of Maman was meant to free her from the confines of her cage. Maman’s clutches still possess her, her memory clinging to her and persisting after death.

 _Please_ , she had cried after another round of blood was spilled upon her body in rivulets. She had lost count of the amount of times blood has fallen on her by now within the coffin, her very existence clouded with streams of red and darkness and nothing more.

_You should have listened to me, Mircalla, you stupid fool. You brought this on yourself._

She also remembers _I only do what is best for you_ and Maman proceeding to choke her with both lies and blood alike, but she cannot recall there ever being an explanation for the hurt bestowed on her, the justification for the pain she was forced to endure caused by the same woman who had promised to nurture her as if she was her own daughter, tied together by a love that preceded biological relations.

If Maman had loved her, why, oh why, had she been capable of hurting her with the same hands that cradled her?

 

 

 

 

She wants to believe she deserves to be loved, but how can she, when no one, not even Laura, could love her for the monster she is?

Everyone she loves she loses, given time. With Maman, she was treasured and useful until she wasn’t, discarded and beaten when she was deemed to be defiant. Then she ended Maman’s life by her own hand, proving herself to be the murderer disguised as a victim all along.

With Ell, it was a matter of her leaving once her true self was revealed. Again, by her own hand and she has only herself to blame.

With Laura, she was labelled as a hero and she could not stand to be labelled as such, for she refused to allow Laura to believe such a devastating, although tempting, lie. She was afraid that doing so would make Laura leave her for the same reason that was the cause for Ell’s departure.

Laura makes her gut burn with light, makes her want to drop onto rough, solid stone ground, have it dig into her knees, the kind of pain that is not meant to feel good but does, will, if Laura so wishes it. Laura splinters her body with her touch alone and reminds her of the young, innocent girl Mircalla was.

If only she could be Mircalla again, the ideal Laura perceives her to be and what Laura needs to satisfy her, but she is lost, buried and lost underneath her victims, drained of blood by her cutting, ghastly mouth.

She wishes to waltz with Laura once more, only the stars allowed to witness the intimate dance between them, a monster masquerading as a young girl and hero at once and a young girl only seeing what she wants to see of her dance partner, as if the illuminating light of the stars in the sky are enough to shy away the monsters of this world and keep her safe.

She has never been the kind of monster to seek darkness, however. Quite the opposite, in fact, for she much prefers the light that emits from stars and candles. Darkness reminds her of the coffin and skies devoid of yellow and her hideous, barren body, the color of her eyes and hair, ink spilled and staining everything in its path, lurking shadows and all that is seen when confined under and inside dirt, at once solid and crumbling.

 

 

 

 

Oh, trembling and terrified humans, shield your eyes from the monster that is the woman with the many different names, for she is not what she appears to be. Mourn for the loss of Mircalla, who lies forgotten since her death alongside her family at the precious age of eighteen, for she was innocent and not deserving of the tragic fate she was given.

Mourn for what the monster could have been, if given the chance.


End file.
